


The Singing Bird

by Silex



Category: Watership Down - Richard Adams
Genre: Gen, Mythology - Freeform, POV Nonhuman, Post-Canon, Rabbits, Scary Stories, Story within a Story, Trick or Treat: Trick, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 02:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/pseuds/Silex
Summary: There are myths about  El-ahrairah, stories about why the world is the way it is and some of those tales feature the Black Rabbit of Inlé. But what about stories about the Black Rabbit himself? Those exist as well and what better time to tell them than when the days are growing shorter, the nights longer and danger seems so near as the cold and hungry months of winter approach?That time of year has arrived and this is one of those stories.





	The Singing Bird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FireEye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/gifts).



> I've only read the original novel, not the collection of short stories and until I started checking details online I never knew that there was a television series, so if I get details wrong based on that I apologize. I'm simply basing things on the book canon.

It happened occasionally at the warren at Watership Down that kits would be born late in the season and this fall had proven to be one of those occasions. The days were growing short, the _elil_ were growing hungry, and Birch was responsible for watching the kits of both his sisters that evening. The kits were at that age where they wanted to wander above ground on their own and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Bilberry, the largest of the kits was particularly adamant, straying the farthest from the entrance of the warden and ignoring Birch’s cries for him to come back, forcing the older buck to go out and retrieve him.

The other kits took advantage of this to all come running out after him so that he had to herd them all back below.

Two litters of kits was more than could be easily counted and it took poor Birch several attempts before he got the last of them safely below ground for the evening.

Once he had them all in one place, safe and accounted for his job was far from over. Every single one of the rambunctious kits wanted to go back outside and no matter how he tried to explain that a _homba_ had been scented near the warren, they refused to listen, Bilberry going so far as to insist that there was no _homba_ nearby and he knew because he had heard birds singing.

That gave Birch inspiration.

“If you all sit down and be quiet I’ll tell you a story,” he said, in a gravely serious voice.

That got the attention of some of the kits.

“Of El-ahrairah?” They asked and then began suggesting their favorite stories.

Not all of the kits were interested though.

“We’ve heard them all,” protested the ever-difficult Bilberry.

“That’s fine,” Birch made a show of laying down, “I was thinking of something better. A special story for the season.”

That got their attention, mostly.

“What’s so special about a story?” Bilberry wondered, his twin sisters voicing agreement.

“It’s a scary story,” Birch said, lowering his ears and hunkering down as though he himself was afraid, “About…”

He trailed off and shuddered.

Now he had them all paying attention.

“What’s so scary about a story?” Several of the kits wondered.

“This one is scary,” Birch promised, dropping his voice to a whisper, “But I shouldn’t tell it. Your mothers will be mad. It’s that scary.”

Running around outside and getting into mischief were forgotten with the promise of a story that frightening.

“Tell it,” boasted Bilberry, “I won’t be afraid.”

“Well, if you insist,” Birch twitched his ears and began the story, “Long, long ago, back before Hazelrah and the others left their home to come here, but not quite during the time of El-ahrairah, there was another warren, one where there were no _elil_. Not the scent of a _homba_ , not the yowl of a _pfeffa_ so the rabbits didn’t believe in them. They didn’t believe in El-ahrairah either.”

“We know this story,” one of the young does interrupted, “Hazelrah and the others traveled through it on their journey. It’s the Warren of the Shining Wire.”

Birch fixed her with a stern look, “It is, but who’s telling the story here? This is about before that.”

“Before Hazelrah went there?” Bilberry sounded impressed, “How do you know about it then?”

It figured that the little troublemaker would find that particular hole in the story. The truth was, he’d only heard pieces of it as a kit himself and put it together himself.

“You need to know where to ask. I heard it from the rabbits in the next warren over, Strawberry founded it after all, and he escaped that dreadful warren,” that seemed to satisfy them and they all settled back down, intrigued by the idea of a scary story from a different warren, “Now where was I?”

“They didn’t believe in El-ahrairah,” one of the young bucks reminded, sounding slightly frustrated.

“Right,” Birch apologized, “I’m not much of a story teller, so you’ll have to forgive me, but that’s the important thing. They didn’t believe in El-ahrairah, so they couldn’t go to his warren when they died, but that was fine because they didn’t die.”

The kits looked at him their expressions ranging from shock to horror to skepticism.

“No _elil_ , remember? There was nothing to kill them there and because of that they didn’t believe in the Black Rabbit.”

“The Wire killed them,” Bilberry’s earlier awe vanished as he pointed out the seeming flaw in the story.

“I was getting to that,” Birch huffed, “This was before that too. The rabbits there didn’t believe in anything and they didn’t die. Which sounds fine until you realize how depressing that must be. Good food was always abundant so there was no such thing as _flayrah_ to them. It was all just food. With no stories to tell they spent most of their time underground and played bob-stones, except they played it so much that there was no fun left to it and they pushed the stones into the walls of the warren and told themselves that those were stories.

Can you imagine that? There was nothing worth their time above the ground and no stories below, just stones. Since there was no point in going above ground except to eat food they’d had so many times it was boring, they didn’t go above ground often. Instead, to pass the time, their does made bird noises while they sat in the dark, pretending that it was the same as above. Because they spent so much time below ground the Black Rabbit never saw them and with no fear of death or stories of El-ahrairah to inspire them, they forgot what it was to be rabbits. For all they knew their does really were birds and stones in the walls really were stories.”

Now the kits were all listening, curious about the absurd warren he was telling them about.

“This isn’t scary, it’s just strange,” Bilberry chimed in, “And boring.”

Thinking quick Birch worked the complaint into the story, “And if you think me telling you about it is boring imagine how boring it must have been to live there day after day. It was all the same until one day a young doe went above ground to eat on a very dark night. Because they spent so much time below ground day and night were the same to them so she thought nothing of it.”

“What about…” one of the kits started to interrupt, only to trail off as they realized on their own that there was no danger.

“Exactly,” Birch nodded, “With nothing to think about, nothing to enjoy, she wandered farther than she normally did, across a field and over several hills both large and small, not because she hoped there might be better food to be found or a safer place to live, but because she didn’t know there was any danger to it. And with no danger to think about she stayed out until the dawn and a lark began to sing. She’d never heard such a beautiful song before, and, thinking it was one of her fellow does, she tried to follow it to find out which of them could sing so well.

She followed the song to a tree and called out, ‘Sister, how do you sing so well?’

Of course the lark thought her to be quite mad and kept singing his song.

She persisted, sitting on her haunches and peering up into the leaves of the tree, ‘And how did you get all the way up there?’

The strange doe below was of no interest to him so the lark continued his song.

It was only when a great hawk flew by overhead that the lark fell silent.

Catching sight of the doe the hawk circled.

She had no knowledge of the danger she was in and was protected by her own ignorance, for the branches of the tree she was standing under made it too difficult for the hawk to get to her. Still, it was patient and more than willing to wait.

And wait it did.

‘Can you teach me how to sing like you do?’ The doe called out to the lark, ‘If I can get to you will you teach me?’

Having the sense to be fearful of the hawk, the lark remained silent.

‘Teach you to sing?’ A strange voice asked from the passing shadow of the hawk, for the Black Rabbit can do that is he chooses to.

‘I already know how to sing,’ the doe said defensively, ‘But she sings so much better than I.’

‘Is this a trick?’ the Black Rabbit laughed, certain that such nonsense had to be part of some plan by El-ahrairah himself, ‘Has your _rah_ sent you as a distraction? What does he want to take from me this time?’

Having lived so long in the dark below ground she saw nothing unusual about talking to a shadow or someone she couldn’t see, so the doe was more puzzled than afraid, ‘My _rah_ is back in the warren. I only came here to learn to sing.’

‘An obvious lie,’ the Black Rabbit scoffed, ‘Surely El-ahrairah is about on some grand scheme and you’re here to play along.’

‘Who?’ This time it was the doe who laughed, ‘Who are you talking about with such a strange name?’

Growing tired of what he thought to be a game, the Black Rabbit emerged from the shadow of the hawk, for he could do that as well, as he was death and able to travel in any form it took, ‘And what will you gain from learning to sing? Tell me why you’re really here and what El-ahrairah wants.’

‘I don’t know anyone by that name,’ the doe was indignant, ‘And I told you, I can already sing.’

Then she demonstrated that she could, whistling like a thrush.

It was so strange that even the Black Rabbit himself was shocked. If it was a trick by El-ahrairah it was a truly complicated one, but at the same time using a doe as a distraction wasn’t the sort of thing he would do.

‘And I still don’t know who El-ahrairah is,” she said after finishing her song.

‘I see,’ the Black Rabbit blinked slowly, ‘You are very brave talking to me like this.’

‘Why?’ she took a closer look at him, noticing for the first time how red his eyes were and how strangely sharp his claws and teeth were, ‘You’re very rude, but you don’t seem dangerous.’

The Black Rabbit straightened up at this, leaning in and sniffing.

His nose confirmed what his ears had told him, this strange doe wasn’t at all frightened of him. More than that, her smell was strange to him, earthy with almost no hint of wind or fresh grass. He had never smelled a rabbit like her and was intrigued by that, for he had met rabbits from all wardens in his time, since no one can escape death, and yet never had he met one who sang like a bird and smelled of darkness and still earth.

‘Perhaps you could take me to your warden?’ He paused, glanced up at the hawk and watched as it left, ‘And then perhaps I could teach you to sing like a lark as well as a thrush.’

‘Of course,’ she agreed happily and hopped off, blissfully unaware of the danger that she was in.

The Black Rabbit followed her across the field she had come from, up and down several small hills and some that were not so small to a place that was strange to him.

Once again he began to wonder if this was a trick, for there was no sign of rabbits living in the place she brought him to. There was plenty of fine food, too much for him to think that anyone lived there, for surely it would have been eaten. Then again, it was the middle of the day by this point and no rabbit would be so bold as to be out at such a time, except for the doe that led him.

And then he saw it, a pair of kits emerged from a small depression in the ground and began to frolic in the grass. No one watched them and they ignored all their surroundings, caught up in the game that they played.

No doe came after them, no buck emerged to keep a watchful eye on them.

There were rabbits here he realized, a whole warren of them, ones that knew not of him or of El-ahrairah. The strange doe had spoken the truth!

They had escaped him for so long, but now he knew where they lived.

Except there were no _elil_ to be found in the area, none that he could call to strike the bold and ignorant rabbits of the strange warren down.

There were other ways though, for the Black Rabbit was clever, perhaps not as clever as El-ahrairah, but he had tricks that he could use.

‘I’ll teach you to sing like a bird if you do a favor for me,’ he offered the doe.

She answered without a moment’s hesitation or thought, ‘Of course you can stay with us and eat with us if you wish.’

‘I don’t need food or a place to stay,’ he explained patiently, ‘But if you want to sing as lovely as the birds do you need to prove that you want to be like a bird. They weave nests of grass to hang in the trees, so could you weave me a burrow out of grass?’

The doe was confused by the strange request, but she soon realized the trick of it, the entrance to a burrow was a hole of course and if she could make the shape of a hole out of grass then she would have solved the trick.

Thinking herself clever, she took several long pieces of grass in her mouth and by hopping this way and that, even rolling over on the ground, she was able to twist them together into a single strand.

Then, with a great deal of hopping and some more rolling, she managed to make it into a loop.

‘There,’ she panted proudly when she was done, ‘That’s the entrance to your burrow.’

The Black Rabbit stuck his head through and when his ears brushed it dust from his own burrow rubbed off on it, making it hard and shining.

‘It’s a rather shallow hole, hardly a burrow, nowhere near a warren. Make it larger.’

So the foolish doe hopped down all the paths she most often walked around her warren, making more circles of grass.

At each one the Black Rabbit stuck his head through, sowing the whole meadow with shining wires.

‘Another, larger,’ he would say at each one until the doe dropped dead from exhaustion.”

At this several of the kits, enthralled by Birch’s story let out wails of horror, but not Bilberry. Instead the kit fixed him with a scowl, “That’s an awful story, not scary at all. And the Black Rabbit lied.”

“The Black Rabbit didn’t lie though,” Birch finished gravely, “He brought the foolish doe to his warren and taught her to sing, just like a bird. He even gave her claws so that she could climb trees. That’s why when the _elil_ are on the prowl and all the other birds have fallen silent there’s sometimes one bird that keeps singing, tricking you into thinking that the danger’s gone. It’s not a bird, it’s that doe, foolish and unaware of the danger, singing just because she can.”

Bilberry gave his words some consideration, his eyes going wide, “You’re right! Last month with the _pfeffa_ that came from the farm. We all had to hide and I didn’t believe it because there was a bird that kept singing. But when it was safe to go back out I could smell it. And the same bird was still singing! The bird earlier was a starling too. Do you think it’s her?”

“Perhaps. She may have learned more songs since then,” Birch said mysteriously, glad that the warning had finally sunk in for the stubborn Bilberry, “But don’t worry about it. Now let’s get some sleep and tomorrow you can all go out again when it’s safe.”

One of the kits looked up at him, her eyes bright and curious, “But how can we go to sleep after such a scary story?”

Immediately the rest of the kits took up the cry of ‘tell us another!’

Birch fought back a grumble of frustration. He’d gotten himself into this after all.


End file.
